


see where all the follies led

by thatsparrow



Series: mollymauk lives fest 2019 [4]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Gen, Mischief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 11:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19766929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsparrow/pseuds/thatsparrow
Summary: As with most of the stories Molly told—other, perhaps, than the moment when Jester's magic had encouraged him to honesty—the one he'd recounted to Beau about playing the part of a royal had only been half-true.--written for day four of mollymauk lives fest: mischief





	see where all the follies led

**Author's Note:**

> title from "down by the water" by the decemberists

As with most of the stories Molly told—other, perhaps, than the moment when Jester's magic had encouraged him to honesty—the one he'd recounted to Beau about playing the part of a royal had only been half-true.

(To blur the details hadn't felt entirely unfitting. The whole conversation had been about lies, and he wouldn't count it as his fault if Beau assumed the falsehoods had stopped there. Knowing her, she'd likely indulged in her own moments of dishonesty, too.)

To her, he'd claimed the whole affair as a test proposed by the rest of the Carnival, put forth on Gustav's initiative to determine the shape of his mettle. Truth-adjacent. Gustav had indeed been in one of the lead wagons, had first seen the small-town stretch of road and mused that maybe they could bluff their way into nicer accommodations. "Getting close to winter, now," he'd said, balancing a bruised copper coin on the back of his knuckles, a cloud of his breath hovering on the air. "Can't say I'd complain about falling asleep on a real mattress between wood walls instead of tent flaps. Bet they've got better liquor than us, too."

Molly had been in the back of the cart, then, familiarizing himself with Gustav's borrowed deck of tarot cards, learning the names and to turn them between his fingers with showmanship ease. (Had only actually been _Molly_ for a few weeks at that point.) He'd stowed the deck before joining Gustav at the front of the wagon, eyes sweeping quick over the cluster of buildings—few of them two-story or fitted with glass-paned windows. Likely Gustav would've left the thought there—might've tossed it up to Desmond or Ornna as a game of _what-if_ over the evening's campfire—but Molly had fixed on the notion quick, caught up in it like a crow distracted by sunlight off something shiny. At that point, he'd still been dressed in a mismatched collection of secondhand clothes, coppers traded with Carnival attendees for whatever spares they'd had that would fit, and it often seemed to him that his new name and new persona were no different. Even if they sat okay-enough around his shoulders, they lingered with the hand-me-down feel of having been better worn by someone else. Maybe that's why he wanted to venture himself on something new. Maybe he wanted to keep trying on affectations until he found a few that fit.

Gustav had smiled when Molly pitched the idea, thoughtfully so if the kind that didn't reach his eyes. Hadn't outright written it off, but he had looked at Molly like he was still made of something breakable.

"I'm game to give it a try," he'd said. "But are you sure you're feeling up to it?"

It wasn't the first time Molly had been asked that question in the past weeks, but hearing it again he felt a familiar flare of irritation. No, of course he wasn't sure. How could he be? He wasn't sure of anything, these days, but how else would he learn what he could handle unless he gave it a try?

"We'll need to find you some better clothes, then." Gustav had looked over his faded brown jacket and twice-mended pants that sat too-short around the ankle with a performer's appraisal. "Maybe borrow something off Desmond or see what we can stitch together from the spare costumes unless you can come up with a better explanation for looking so—well, poor."

 _Reincarnated_ was the lie they'd settled on, just far-fetched enough to be worth a good story. (Easiest way of explaining why a supposed royal had landed so far from home in such shabby-looking clothing, too.) They'd taken a few extra hours on the road into town rehearsing it, Gustav and Desmond tossing him softball questions while Ornna had braided back his hair, fixed the slouch of his shoulders, helped him clean the dirt from under his nails. They'd played with his voice, too, not messing with the accent so much as stretching out the vowels, broadening his words like he was speaking around a mouth made full with molasses.

"Welcome to the Carnival," Gustav had said once they were done rehearsing, dipping into a bow, "Your Majesty."

—

He'd lied to— _misled_ —Beau about where the idea had started, but also about how long the ruse had lasted. He'd told her three weeks, which must've sounded believable, despite being about two-and-a-half weeks too long. He'd learned enough about himself in those first few days and started feeling guilty enough about the manipulation that he'd pulled back the curtain early. (Lucky that the townsfolk had treated the whole thing as a lark, though it likely helped that Molly had emptied out his purse buying enough drinks to go around as an apology. They'd ended up with full stands at their performance that night, too.) He'd never told the others that he'd revealed the truth intentionally, though—had instead let them believe that he'd let something slip while juggling the falsehoods. It was a version of the story they were all more understanding of. Maybe that's why he'd similarly colored outside the lines with Beau.

 _Seriously, Molly_? He imagined her saying. _You set up this whole fucking scam and then blow the whistle on it three days in? What was the point?_

That he'd never had the chance to try such a peacock-bright personality and found it fit him like a second skin. Had liked watching townsfolk walk away from interactions with him smiling like something special had happened, a story tucked into their pocket along with the coppers Molly had slipped there. Had liked being generous with his laughter.

He wouldn't say any of that, though. Instead, he'd have gestured to himself in response, a lazy, head-to-toe movement. Beau would laugh.

 _Oh, so_ that's _why you're such an insufferable asshole_.

 _Exactly_ , he'd said. _Spent three days getting used to the attention and then didn't know how to stop_. _Who doesn't want to be treated like a king?_

But, as with most of what he says, that's not entirely true.


End file.
